Page 96 of Line of Sight

8:00 a.m.

GARY WAITED,his gun out of its holster, while a uniformed officer rang the bell to Anthony King’s apartment at Cronin’s Landing. When there was no answer, the concierge handed the officer a key.

Riley made it known he would have been happy to kick the door in, but Gary had been at this game longer than him and knew diplomacy was the way to go.

Who knew when they’d need access to another apartment?

The officer opened the door and shouted “Police! Hands in the air where we can see them.” He inched his way into the apartment, Gary and Riley close behind. Once inside the luxurious space, Gary knew instantly their quarry had fled the scene.

He put his gun back in his holster. “He isn’t here.” Riley followed suit. Gary stood in the middle of the living area that was devoid of furniture, as empty as it had been for its first occupant. Riley and the other officers went from room to room, banging doors, checking to see whether King had left anything.

“Gary! Get in here.”

Gary followed his voice into the bedroom. Another empty room, except for—

Oh my God.

A marble bust sat in the middle of the hardwood floor, its cool white surface stained red in places. The plaque on the frontsaid it was Caligula, but what covered the emperor’s features was the face of Greg Collins, a bloodied mask of skin.

“I think I’m gonna heave,” an officer moaned.

“Then find a bathroom,” Gary told him. He too was fighting the urge to vomit, but he’d be damned if he’d do it in front of his fellow officers. His phone rang, and when he saw Dan’s name, he clicked on Answer. “What did you find out at the bank?”

“King came in yesterday and withdrew five-hundred grand.”

“Fuck. He’s going off the grid. I’ll call you back.” Gary dialed Travers and relayed their findings.

“I’ll have his photo circulated. Get Davis to check the land registry for any other properties King owns.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And put in a call to whoever’s still alive from that goddamn murder club. They need to be apprised of the situation. Then organize a police watch for both of them. That means informing the police in… where is Senator Kelly’s district again?”

“York, Maine, sir, and I was about to do that next,” Gary told him.

“Then don’t waste time talking to me.” Travers hung up.

Gary consulted his notebook and called Jennifer Sullivan.

“I have nothing to say to you. I’m going to han—”

“Wait!” Gary shouted. “Donothang up, Ms. Sullivan. You need to listen to me. Your life may depend on it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know everything, okay? Anthony King, the Secret Murder Club….”

“What? But you can’t…. Who told you?”

“Greg Collins. And what you don’t know is, he’s dead.”

Before he could tell her they suspected King, a choking sound filled his ears.

“Oh God. He killed Greg, didn’t he?”

“We have reason to believe Mr. King might be involved, yes. Not only in Greg’s murder, but the death of Amy Walsh.”

A wail rose up. “No. Oh no. It was suicide.”